Late Night Drive

Hung over
chasing phantoms in a
fog covered field,
grass spitting morning dew
onto my calves
and I can't believe
how far I've come.
Memories burst in clouds
of smoke
and lines of white
stinging something like
heartache
yet soothing still, like
new love.

A thought amidst the chaos:

Of all the things I've been
I think I liked myself the most.
And I wish so goddamn hard
that I could find him
out here
in this haze.

Frigid

Air Conditioned air
fills my small room
and I lay
Curled
On the verge of shivering
too damn lazy to stand...
But is it lethargy?
Perhaps I want to lay
Cold seeping through
my every pore,
coating every bone,
for sake of having part in
the summertime headline
'Man Freezes to Death
in the Middle of July.'

Tuesday Blues

Hello all. I don't have much to say today. I'm at another low point on that roller coaster. And I'm late for work. So, here's today's piece. Enjoy.

My Heroin[e]

She sat half naked
often
Dingy robe far beyond its lifetime
covering her well worn skin.
She hated clothes
hated what she felt they stood for
and though she couldn't recall
what she felt they stood for
she hated them.
She had come to know hate well.
Love was a tainted word for her
so she cast it aside with clothing.
Nudity was amazing
only second to the sweet kiss of
a needles point to her thigh.
Her arms had long lost their use,
all veins buried somewhere far
from that bittersweet kiss.
She sat
half naked
staring at the blinking numbers
of her VCR
resting atop a television
that had lost the ability
to show any more than
her darkened reflection.
12:00
12:00
Always Twelve o'clock.
She liked it best at
twelve o'clock.
It was her time to be freed
by that sweet kiss.
So cold
that kiss
but it became so warm
and her...
she became so serene
Sitting naked
beneath that dingy robe.

Sunday Sunday Sunday

G'Afternoon readers. East US afternoon at least. I had a particularly uneventful Saturday night. A couple of beers, a viewing of Apocalypto, and entirely too much sleep. The past few days I've been sleeping well into the day. I used to love waking up at noon, but now it makes me feel like a bum. This whole working nights thing is screwing up my schedule. I'm going to have to do something about that before classes start again.I posted a few pieces today, all written within the last few days. Enjoy, dear reader.

A Real Man always asks for Directions

Where can a poet run
when he's tired of his own words?
When he's sick of his own words.
I'd like to find that place
and call it home for a while.

Changing the Station

Your voice
is little more than
a whisper somewhere
in the back of my mind
and if you don't mind
I'd like to forget you.
I've been carrying you so long,
these shoulders need a rest.
I've got to lose myself in
some other tune.
Some other song but ours.

She Says

"Don't go home, please."
More demand than request
but either way I feel
I can't grant it.
I'm far too tired of
our dance.
How many times do we
have to fuck our way
into friendship,
only to fight our way back out
when we're done?
The eternal question
nagging my mind more than
the meaning of life:
What is the meaning of love?
or lust
or whatever twisted game
we play too well
or horribly.
I don't know anymore.
I only know I can't be here.
Not now.
Wishing I'd said all that
I mutter
"Sorry."
and disappear out the door.
It'll happen again.
It always happens again.

Pampered Leaf Society - Unite!

Greetings all. How was your week? Mine flew by at light speed. I feel as if I've gotten very little done in the last couple weeks. I know the things I should do... it's just that process of getting off my ass and doing it. --And the River Man has just been hit by Déjà Vu. Always happens when I talk about needing to get things done.
On another note, went to the second meeting of The Writing Group. It's turning out to be a good move. I do so enjoy writing for a crowd -- Didn't you notice? And there are some very talented people there. Highly inspirational. I'm working the next meeting, but I'm going to see what I can shimmy.
Today's piece was written a couple days ago. You guessed it - No editing. Enjoy.

Jamais vu

It was a pampered leaf, really
bearing no scars
of insect jaws
No blisters filled with
Some unknown progeny.

Born on a cool
Spring morning
shortly after a downpour
and just before sunrise.

Spring flew by
as all childhoods do -
In a haze of fragrant flowers
and refreshing rainfall,

but Summer was its greatest time.
Long days of soaking in
sweet sunshine
deep breaths taken in the
cool nights.

A lark would sometimes
settle beside it and
sing of far off lands.

A troop of ants
mindlessly absorbed in their orders
would occasionally march along
its tender flesh.

Bright green and
tender flesh
grew brittle in the coming cold,
breaths slowed
and the orange of a life lived
swallowed its appearance.

Sometime
shortly after a chilled shower
and just before dawn
it loosened the hold on
its mother
and silently drifted
into the darkness below.

And so he returns...

'Ello all. I'm back, and typing this for the second time because I'm a fucking idiot. Inevitably, it will be only a quarter as good as my original rant (as is always the case when trying to reclaim lost work). Chicago was pretty good. It was a bit like a slow paced New York, and when I wasn't bored - I was having a reasonably good time.
One downfall: I found myself to be completely wordless the entire time. I guess Aoide prefers New York. Hopefully she returns to my side now that I've come back. I'm sure she will.

I honestly don't feel like retyping this. Sorry. I'll post something later with more detail. Enjoy my attempts to write without my sweet muse.

Fountain

Does the moon
ever visit
this city?
I can't seem to find
peace without it.
Listening to my own
labored attempts
at breathing
and the distant
splashing
of a fountain
I have long since
lost sight of.

Not a Second Glance

Laid out
above Chicago
in the summertime heat
Words won't seem to come to me
Haven't been since I
First arrived
in this city.
My sweet Aoide
Do you desire New York?
Do you miss the
crack heads and
coke fiends?
Do you miss the
alcohol drinking
and dice rolling?
Do you miss that
same old shit?

Ch Ch Ch Chicago

The ol' River Man is headed out towards a lake of greatness. I'm off to Chicago for a Plant Biologist Conference and I'm actually more excited then one would expect an event like that to entail. I'm tired as hell though, as I haven't actually slept yet. I went with a couple of friends for an all night drive. I figure I'll make up the needed sleep (or a small portion of it) on the plane.
I expect heavy inspiration from this trip, so I should come back with plenty to post. In the mean time I figured I'd post a few random scribbles. Enjoy, dear readers, and have a great weekend.

Upon Waking

I am most jubilant
and despondent
when I am in solitude -
with no more company
than a cigarette
and a beer,
Trying desperately
and in vain
to escape thought itself.

Wayward Angels

We thought
somewhere
wayward angels were
directing our curious dance
with the unthinkable.
So young
yet
swallowed in an ageless love
(or so we labeled it
in silly midnight conversations
awash with
excessively sweet lines
resembling a sickening love song)

Drowning
in our filthy offshoot
of heaven.

Some When

Locked in awkward conversation,
we couldn't end the silence.
The queen of hearts and I
and I,
the jack of all trades
and nothing at all,
could find nothing to say.

It ended there
in silence
and cumbersome glances.

Bluest Blues

Beside a forest of empty
beer bottles
and a lonely cigarette
in its own box,
He contemplates his worth

The conclusions he reaches
are astounding-
ly disappointing
and he burns the sole survivor
in response.

Shhhh

Happy (late) 4th of July, U.S. readers. It's late and I'm tired, but Aoide has been singing my ear off all night. I told her I'd post this latest one, then go to bed. She agreed. Edits may or may not come. Enjoy.

What's the Use?

3 O'Clock
in the morning
Eating cold Chinese food
to the retreating haze
of a night worth of
beer drinking
and I can't help but think
(as the chicken lo mein slides
unwillingly
down my throat)
Is this to be remembered?
When I'm long gone
to dust and worm shit,
when my name is forgotten
from the minds of my
children's
children's
children
Will this moment -
Spent greasy lipped,
somewhere on the edge
of a stomachache,
lost in ink and thought -
be worth any more than
the dirt I'd become?
Will any humanity,
any reality of who I am
remain with the name
on the gravestone?

Running Late

Coffee stains the page,
turning lines
struggled for
fought for
from the mind of a poet
into an inky mess.
In this he feels
loss
but no sadness
because a true poet
is no master of words
but one of the
meaning behind them.

Sleep Walking

Lately
My life has felt like
a dream
not in the ideal
Blue skies
and butterflies way.
Instead
as if at any
moment
I'll wake to find that
my mind
has created all
I've been
and I am just a
child
with no idea of
the world
I was born into
and tried
so desperately to
escape.

Show me a killer. Please.

Another wild weekend passes by, with a huge switch in alliances. Apparently, I am no longer in a circle I didn't quite realize existed. More importantly, people I had begun to trust (unwarranted trust, mind you) proved to be a bit... wishy washy?
My family is hilarious. I know all families have bizarre and amusing interactions, but I think mine is one of the few with death threats.
For those confused, I started some war with the majority of the family I'm in contact with. Regret level: 0. What can I say? My brother is a punk. Such is life.
Today’s piece was just finished 45 seconds or so before I began writing this little rant. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't heavily inspired by a morning of Bukowski and Gluck. Ah, and my dear Aoide of course. Great set of muses to have, wouldn't you agree?

What happens then?

"You're killing yourself"
She maunders,
casually chewing a handful of cashews.
I can't help but smile,
threads of smoke escaping
my overbite.

"You're probably right."
But I'm awfully sick of
Life
anyway.
I keep the last half to
myself
raising my cigarette
to my lips
I'm sure she knows already-
it's hard to hide indifference.
Harder still to get over it.
Eventually I'll try.

"Don't you ever worry about dying?"
Her eyebrows are tight already,
as if she’s angry at the response
I haven't given yet.

I choose not to give it.

"I worry more about living."
The crowd in my mind
goes wild.
The world moves smoothly when
You're your own biggest fan.
Wordy wordsmith: One Point.

"You and your fucking poetry.
If you'd listen to listen
instead of listening to respond
you'd be a lot better."
She's fuming now
and I swear I can see
smoke
(thicker than the stream rising
from my sweet cigarette)
seeping from her nostrils.

Taking a long drag,
nodding
I can't help but smile

"You're probably right."

How About That

Going a little crazy today, ain't I? Looking a bit like the ol' Gypsy. Those short ones are older. I had them on some other blog and sort of rediscovered them. I'm feeling alright at the moment. Still feeling distant... but now its being covered with indifference. Knowing my moods, it'll swing again.
Separate, scientific note: I'm mildly interested in virology. Herpes intrigues me. Is that weird? It would be great to find a vaccine. Pipe dreams, dear readers, pipe dreams. I haven't the will (at the moment) to invest that amount of time on that road.
One day, I s'pose.
I've been bitten (or perhaps visited in a friendly manner?) by a muse. With research, I have located the name of my admirer. Aoide. She is indeed the butterfly upon my shoulder, singing inspirational sweetness. I'll write about her soon, I think.

Mr. LyDale's Demise

What is it?
Why do you bother me so?
Did I cross your path
Somewhere along the way and wrong you?
I assure
I can't recall your face
And your name doesn't bring
To mind
anyone I've ever known.
Still,
you knock upon my door
Too soft for me
to truly be angry and
Too loud for me to ignore.
Won't you tell me your purpose?
Or is your pleasure born of my discomfort?
That's it!
You vile wretch,
Thieving my air
from my lungs-
I feel you!
Stealing my life
Stealing my life!
How dare you?
Who sent you?
Why are you here?
Now?
No.
Not now!
Any time but now.
Any when but this when.
This life is mine!
I've paid heavily for this whore!
The tears, blood and friends I've lost.
The blood, friends and love I've lost.
I've lost...
I'm lost, so lost...
I see.
I'm yours.
Take me.

Turtle Trance

Is breathing a tool of the living?
If so, you'll be the death of me.
You always steal my breath
Dancing Muse
Your moves sooth my desire
My thoughts are consumed with you.
At best I've become a slave to this passion.
You are as sweet as moonlight.
and my heart beats in reverance of your
shine.
I beg...
Bathe me in your glow.

[In]Organic Angel

Woman with a thousand faces
Bound by experience
She waits.
Waits for word from her soul
saying she can go in peace.
She waits on lies.
Inside and out, empty.
But her eyes are glazed with life
darkened by the past,
She paints her present bright
Looking to sculpt her future perfect.

Dear Troubled Soul

Silence was the first to go
But the last to leave this place
As I took an lonely ocean ride
Tied with ribbon and shoelace
Bound with bubble gum and magic tape
I carried words but could not record their meaning
A mist of angels spit
and devils admiration
sealed tight inside a snapple bottle

I found the shore much lonelier than the sea.

Grape

I hope the world remembers your
starlike form
When the moon comes calling for
your smile.

All the things I've done...

Greetin's readers. How fair thee in these ending days of June? I feel somewhere outside myself, my consciousness is a kite following my body out of tethered obligation. If possible, I wouldn't mind going blank for a while- some sort of living autopilot. I think I need a vacation. A real vacation. Well, to be honest, I really think I just need to move. As of late I've been listening to my classic 'get out of here'
play list, which is topped by 'Summerland' by Everclear. Great song; So good in fact that despite knowing next to nothing about Summerland, California, I still want to move there. If only for a short period of time. Check the song out, if you haven't heard it.
I'm just about to get ready for work. I think I'll post again later. I got nothing I really feel page worthy, but... its a long day and I've had the single line muse on my shoulder. She whispers amazing lines - single lines. I just can't seem to go anywhere with them.
"But River Man, a single line can be poetry."
Yeah... But these feel unfinished to me. Not meant to be one liners. Maybe I'll post a short piece with little/no babbling. We shall see.

Waste

He rose,
Not with vigor or intent
instead with an indolent
air that left a bitter taste.
His cant was
slow as if the thoughts had to
travel an unheard expanse
to exit his blistered lips.
His disgusting, swollen lips
dripping saliva like a
dog. His voice the cackle of
A hyena
This man had long abandoned
humanity and staggered
Lumbered
Floundered
into the decay of death
living. An empty husk
a crust
a hull
with addiction where his mind
once was and a heart pumping
despair. Awaiting his train
To hell.
And I...
I sell him the tickets
and pray he catches his ride.

Run! Pigs afoot!

Hello all. This weekend was uncommonly busy. It started heavy with an unexpected (and honestly undesired) Friday night fight. On Saturday I took a trip downtown to Union Square with Gypsy Pete. I love the city. Running into craziness is nearly inevitable. We encountered a (self-claimed) 6'7" Jew who gave me a painting, a group of dare-bound college girls looking for a cheek to kiss and a strange Brooklynite with a sign offering free hugs. Sunday I went fishing for about 9 hours and didn't catch a goddamned thing. My consolation was a reinforced distaste for seafood.
I'm oversimplifying, of course, but you get the idea. I don't particularly feel like posting anything long winded tonight - I feel a bit out of it. The past few nights I've been catching sleep on and off. It's been more like a series of naps than an actually good nights rest.
Hopefully the next time I close my eyes tonight, I don't open them until sunlight is staining the sky.

Final Harvest

Mr. Jenson addressed
His class
the day before
their freedom

Keeping his concerns beneath
his collar
and wearing
confidence
on his brow
He spoke

"Life is hard
-Forget you've known this
already
and hear me out-
Life is hard
and dying is the easy part.
But the ease
in death
can never overcome
the forfeiture involved.

Likewise
When faced with
A path
Of a thousand
Footprints
or
Rolling hills of
Fresh grass
Ignore the sign
Reminding
to mind the reaching blades
and blaze your own trail.

My students,
I've tasted
the spring of
Leadership
and subservience
and have found
The former
to quench a thirst
I hadn't known
I had.

Followed my green hills
Until
I found
Your eyes
Ears
and minds
I made them mine
But now they're yours
Again
With hopes that you
See clearer
Listen closer
and think
to
Rethink
That thought
You thought
You were sure of.

You have all come
so far
in the years
Since we've met
and I have become
A relic
In your world
...Nothing more than
A friendly reminder
of what
Once was.

... What will be ...
That,
My friends
I leave to you."

Crossing the I's and Dotting the T's

Shocked? I'm back after just two days. How is this possible? Well, what better to do with the aforementioned boredom then enrich this phenomenal page of mine? How was your Tuesday, dear reader? Mine was uneventful. Wake, work, sleep, and repeat.
Gypsy Pete paid me a visit and we wove mile-long plans again. We would take over the world if we weren't so goddamned lethargic. We envisioned our own publishing company. Now to snatch it out of the thought bubble and slap it into reality! Eventually.
Random rant: I am growing tired of people disagreeing with me when I tell them of my bipolarity. The classic image of some bug-eyed individual flipping from happy to sad is NOT the standard. That’s pretty damn crazy, actually. Your dear River Man suffers from BP II.
"River Man, oh River Man, what is BP II??"
Well, dear reader, BP II (Bipolar II Disorder) is a variant of BP lacking the manic states. To clear things up -

Mania: People having a manic episode of mood can be elated, euphoric, irritated and/or suspicious. There will be an increase in physical and mental rate and quality. Increased energy and over-activity is common; speech can become racing. The need for sleep is reduced. Attention span is low and easily distracted.

Usually, we do not suffer from manic episodes.
"But River Man, how can you have Manic Depression if you don't suffer from Mania?!"
Well, I do suffer from Mania - a form of Mania called Hypomania.

Hypomania: During hypomanic episodes, patients may become more productive or noticeably goal driven, but their ability to function well in their normal daily activities is not impaired. Hypomania is generally a less destructive state than mania, and people in the hypomanic phase generally experience less of the symptoms of mania than those in a full-blown manic episode. The duration is usually also shorter than in mania. This is often a very 'artistic' state of the disorder, where there is a flight of ideas, extremely clever thinking, and an increase in energy.

Well, ain't that something! So, this image of the wo/man rapidly flipping between and smile and a frown is NOT the true representation of Manic Depression. At the very least not as a whole. Like those it afflicts, this disorder varies. Episodes can last a number of days, and at times the individual may not be strongly depressed or manic, but rather a strange sort of indifferent. So please, if someone tells you they are manic-depressive DO NOT DISAGREE. Unless of course you happen to be a psychologist with extensive experience with Bipolars, in which case say what you will.
That is all I have to say on that topic. Onward! Today’s piece was -you guessed it- written today and unedited. Haven't edited shat lately. This one was scribbled on the bus to work. It was the second of three written on that ride and the one I like the best at this very moment. I will call it

Countess

She peers about
Eyes I imagine an angel
Somewhere regrets parting with.
I'm lost somewhere
in thought
when her view falls to me. Breathe
A silent reminder to myself as I return
Her hazy gaze
as if to say

"Me!
Bearer of the sweetest eyes,
It is I that you crave
to look at
For the rest of your time!"

Prolonged breath finally
Exiting my excited lungs
She dons a pair of
Ruby sunglasses
And takes her leave
As if to say

"No."

Flaming Flasks Afoot

Greetings, my allegiant readers. It has been about a month since my last post.
-Momentary 'inside the River Man's mind': The stereotypical AA introduction ("...a month since my last drink...") flooded my mind when I typed that. I laughed. That, my friends, is how low my wit has sunk.-
How has your June been thus far? Mine has been hellishly busy. I'm working Monday through Friday, about 7 hours a day. I'm sure I have a few 9-to-5ers laughing at my dismay. To you I say: Fuck off.
"Hey River Man" You may say at this point. "Aren't you supposed to be working?"
Of course I am! However, the joys of being a teachers assistant mean I have an immeasurable amount of free time, ultimately equating to a dangerous roller-coaster ride with boredom. Judging from the slight unease and rumbling in my fingertips, I’d say also with starvation. It would appear that the older I get, the less I can deal with hunger. As a child, malnourishment was a staple of my household; ironic that now I can't deal with even the slightest lapse in sustenance. So tell me, dear readers, why is it you return? Does my verse really draw your interest, or is it my occasional ramblings of the drudgery of life? If you're new... well... then obviously that question doesn't apply to you. Damn you.
Anyhow... Onward to today’s piece! I wrote it about an hour ago... and I like it damn it. You will also.

Broken Glass Symphony

Gazing down the barrel of a smoking .45
Waiting for the impact. Patiently
Eagerly anticipating the sweet sex
Of metal and flesh. Wondering
How long it’s been since it begun
And the abrupt interruption -
Those words
They burn the throat like vomit

Such a long, lonely road we walk
Together
My dear - such a long, lonely road
Headed everywhere we’ve already been
Or haven’t any interest in visiting.
Silly, isn’t it?
Writhing the way we do with
Time cascading around us
And pooling at our feet
Resembling a thousand missed opportunities.

“Life is in the future”

Repeat until you believe it,
They say,
Repeat until you believe it - my dear.
And amid the confusion forget
Tomorrow is yesterday disguised
Wearing ambiguity and hope like a prom dress
Destined to be shed
And tumble headlong into ill repute.
Such a scarlet past, isn’t it?
If only the truth could be conquered with such ease

Idiot

Trying to screw around with the page.... deleted the counter by accident. =( Sad, sad day in River Man land.

Edit: Put in a new one. Lets see if it works. I removed the anchor and all so it might not. Hrm...


Edit(2):Haha! Got my old counter back. Right digits too. =)

Manatees of May

'Ello all. Today I am in quite the happy mood. Not entirely sure why, but there's no point in spoiling it with questions! It is a beautiful day outside; I cannot fully justify why I'm still sitting inside plastered to this computer screen, other than I felt compelled to post. Currently in a summertime revamp phase.
"River man, oh River man, what is a summertime revamp?" you ask.
That's the glorious time of the year when I make all my plans for the upcoming year. New years’ are far too cold and busy for me to ponder such important topics, so I save it for this wonderful time of year when my spirits are lifted by the warming weather. Let me tell ya, I am out doing myself with plans. Hell, if I accomplished half of the stuff I put into motion it'd be a good haul. Really though, what is the point in only planning things you can definitely get done? Live alittle! On my list for the upcoming year: Go skydiving. Realistic chance: .0001% Do I care? Not particularly. If it is done, fucking awesome.

I want to start writing again. Prose, I mean. I used to write short stories constantly. Mostly falling into the fantasy realm, I harbored half-assed dreams of getting a novel published. The book didn't have to do well - I would love if it did - but just to see my name on that cover. To know that locked within those pages was a world born only of my mind and the various sources of inspiration I called upon. That someone besides myself could see all the twisted tales I weave in my head all day long and perhaps even enjoy one. Fucking awesome. However, I swerved away from all that when I went back to school. No time for imaginary worlds when I'm trying to learn the scientific intricacies of the one I inhabit. That's another thing on my list though: write my ass off this year.
In truth, I am a man of such little discipline that these aspirations are virtually self-defeating. The more I want to accomplish something, the further from my reach it is. On my list: Stick to my guns. Say it. Do it. Repeat.
Plenty of other junk on the list, but there is plenty of time to elaborate. For now, I want to go onward to today’s piece.

Grinning in the Face of Fate

Don’t worry, little fellow…
Picking at the cherry tree
Love will find you before you go
He is on his way I’m sure –
He is rarely late, you know.
For what he carries on his back,
I assure is worth the wait.

I have just the one in mind…
There is this little lady
Laying beside the river bank
She appears the lonely type
Tired of the lying boys
Lying –Hidden- in the bushes,
Waiting for their chance to pounce.

Her lovely gaze is skyward,
Mind lost somewhere in the clouds-
I’d bet she’s waiting on love too.
Love and his tired wings to
Swallow her whole and take her
Far away, so damn far away
She forgets every detail
of her lonely river side.

And knows only love and its
Intricacies. It’s ugly
And corroded intricacies.
Perhaps you’re her stainless knight
Aberrant little fellow
Listlessly plucking leaves from that
Cherry tree in tune with the

Song of your feeble breathing
Waiting to find a surprise
Amongst all the monotony
Perhaps, my friend, she is your
Sweet Summertime Butterfly
Destined to set your life abloom
And release you from this tree

This aging and exposed tree
How long has it served your need?
Assisted your escape from thought?
Not much longer now, dear lad
Love is surely on his way
Carrying your future in a
Quiver on his back. Ready
To uplift you life with the
Gentle strumming of his bow.

Brewed In Holland

Nothing caps a shitty day quite like an ice cold Heineken. Yep... today was a winner. The past couple weeks have been pretty shatty overall. Had to quit one of the jobs... it was turning out to be too much. Atleast I made it to the end of the semester. My entire 'get out by may 08' plan was shot to shit by some renovations at the lab, meaning a class I need will not be offered this summer. Now, it seems my foolish ass will be a student an extra year. Whooo Hooo. My cousin wanted me to go up to Buffalo this upcoming weekend, but I have plans. That isn't such a bad thing... I think I'm going to enjoy the plans. And I could always go up there the week after.
How rude of me! How are you, dear readers? Hopefully your last two weeks (Has it even been that long? Longer?!) have found you in good spirit and health. For my fellow students - how were finals? Good I hope. I had a disappointing semester, I suspect. I'll let you know when the grades come in.
Well, I've found heavy inspiration as of late. I suspect its the sudden release of brain activity ~ the rebirth of the precollege mind of the River Man. When I had nothing better to do with my time than drink and write! Those were the days. Well... life is in the future... not the past. Got to keep reminding myself these days.
I thought of an interesting idea... but wasn't going to run it by you fine individuals because I figured it'd fail. Fuck it. Here's the deal. You suggest topics, and I'll try and write a piece about them. It may not be the greatest, but it'll be something mildly metrically sound. Hows that? Tempted? I know I might get some silly topics, or perhaps none at all. But, I figured I'd give it a shot. There ya go. Respond freely and give me your ideas! I dare ya.
On to tonights piece. More unedited. This site has caused me to abandon the editing process. I'm too amped to post. Quite backwards. It has no title... some I'm making something up right now. ...
Thinking...
Thinking...
Thinking...
Got it.

Summertime Downpour

Scattered about the mess I'm calling home
Pretending home is nothing more than a hole
filled with empty feelings
Imagining just how close I am
Scared I'll never be this close again
To feeling that I belong
Guess I'll never belong so long as
I paint paradise in watercolors.
Praying the rain passes me by

If I could never move again
I guess I'd be happy with
soft sheets and a firm pillow
Label the bed "the best it gets" and
let the rest fade around me
Made an art of settling,
aren't I creative?
Finely mastered servitude,
How's that for thinking outside the box?

100% Unrecycled Paper Bits

Greetings people. It's may day. To be perfectly honest, I have never quite understood what the hell may day is. And you may say 'River man... really... you're on the internet... do some research man!' but I don't feel like it. I don't care that much about may day.
So, you've noticed I'm babbling aye? Alot of work lately... this really should be my time to be enjoying the company of my pillow, but I missed you people. I've almost reached the 200 level... I gotta get the page swarming!! Tell your friends, tell your neighbors, tell anyone! Lie! Say I update so often you can't keep up with me! Say I live the most amazing life you could ever imagine. ... What the hell am I doing? If you can't make up a lie to draw the attention of the masses (or at the very least your immediate social group) I don't know how the hell you got this far in life.
Ok... now the babbling is bothering me! I'm off. I'll be back soon. Yes, I always say that... I gotta keep you wanting more. I will be back though... with truckloads of stuff to talk about (lie)... check in every now and then. And comment damnit!

Waving in the Freezing Breeze

Gypsy Pete is green
And perspiring
While all the devil’s men scream
‘You are nothing more than
less than what you could have been –
And him… cursed by the River…
Can never be half of what you are.’
Their words become the better of them
And perhaps we’re better for it
‘Cause there is little worse than a wasted breath.
Isn’t that our reason for howling at the crowd
In fevered attempts to enlighten?
Enlighten?
Enshroud would be the better term
We weave our verse into blanket and noose
To comfort the listeners as we hang before them
A twisted vestige of what could have been
If now was then
And then was just a dreamland
Colored random shades of yellow
All this talk has me
So sleepy…
So very fucking sleepy…
Would you mind if I just
closed my eyes for the minutest moment.
The shortest second of rest is all I need
I will be back to pick up where I left off
And onward we will stride down the path we’ve begun
Until we find its end and finish it.
I give you my word!
My friend…
If a wordsmith’s word is worth nothing
What is the wordsmith worth?